


Free to Good Home

by CerysKitty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Captivity, Dubious Consent, Dubious Ethics, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Percy knows what he's doing is Fucked Up but he doesn't have much choice, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 14:48:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8165657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerysKitty/pseuds/CerysKitty
Summary: When Perceptor is rescued by a rogue Deadlock, the Wreckers don't stop to chat, and he ends up their rather unwilling and uncooperative prisoner.Given ultimate veto on whether Deadlock lives or dies, Perceptor saves him in the only way he can- by taking him as a personal 'project', promising Kup and Springer he can turn their captive into a useful member of the team.Now his challenge is to somehow achieve that promise.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry to add to my ever-growing list of WIPs, but here's something I've been poking at a lot recently...
> 
> Similar-ish to Coin Operated, in that fuck I just love Drift being 'owned' lol, but much less darker on the back story, but much shadier on the actual relationship.
> 
> This will hopefully be a pretty short fic- I just wanted to write feral-ish Deadlock and Percy taming him :3 there's not going to be much backstory, it'll be more or less 100% focus on them and their kind of fucked up situation :D
> 
> SO maybe I'l... actually finish this fic... Let's hope shall we.

The growling was audible from down the hall, growing louder as Perceptor approached the brig, and their… Guest, a Decepticon, some sort of average-build racer, who’d been in the wrong– no, _right_ place at the right time. Perceptor had only seen a glimpse of dirty white plating before, well, before nothing really, except blinding pain and darkness, though in his brief periods of consciousness in the medbay he blearily remembered seeing the 'Con offline and strapped tight to a berth. In his own post-repair stupor, he’d watched as Springer and Kup argued over the con’s unconscious body, and the next time he’d onlined, the battered frame was gone.

He’d been almost afraid to ask what became of him, his rouge ‘saviour’ from that Decepticon ship, but neither Kup nor Springer were feeling chatty about it, and the only answer he could get out of them was ‘we’re handling it lad’ and ‘keep your nose out of it’. So he had, instead he’d kept himself busy, rebuilding his frame, and practicing with the upgrades while the rest of the crew continued to leave him alone. When Kup next found him, it had shocked Perceptor to realise it had already been a full month since his Accident.

A full month since he’d seen the 'Con, who he quietly suspected had been executed without his knowledge.

Well, at least now he knew he hadn’t been offlined, but entering the brig, Perceptor wondered if it might have been kinder.

Both Kup and Springer stood to the side, letting him take in the sorry state of their prisoner; someone had put a sort of shelf in the furthest cell from the door, turning it from a tiny holding cell into a small, cramped box. A cramped box with a severely injured Decepticon huddled inside, glaring from one remaining optic and growling at them all despite the sparks of the shock collar he wore fritzing at every noise. He hadn’t seen his saviour when he’d been pulled to safety, but now he could put a battered face to the white blur, and it took all he had not to wince. Dried energon flaked down his chin, and the patches of the softer facial-metal which weren’t cut up were swollen and bruised, turning an ugly blotchy pink with broken fine energon lines under the thinner metal.

The old him would’ve flinched, or babbled or tried to ask what was going on. The new him simply stood, stoic while he waited for Kup to finish the drag on his cy-gar.

The old mech exhaled, and crossed his arms.

“Well, he ain’t giving us anything.” Inwardly, Perceptor wasn’t surprised; it was clear from the wounds that the crew had used him more to vent their anger upon, rather than any sort of productive interrogating.

At their feet, the 'Con snarled something, and Perceptor took private note of several broken denta, including one missing, and the blackened build up of old energon and filth around the gumline. The 'Con’s snarling didn’t last long though, and he cut off with a soft grunt at a stronger burst of electricity from the collar. Still he didn’t look away, and Perceptor stared right back, forcing himself to look. He wouldn’t hide, not from some half-dead feral 'Con, no matter what he’d done for him.

“You’re asking my opinion?” Perceptor tried to be succinct, but behind them Springer just scoffed and clapped a huge hand to Perceptor’s shoulder. To Perceptor’s credit, he didn’t stumble too badly.

“Kup reckons you get to decide, since he saved you an’ all. Tell ‘im.”

Kup took another drag of his cy-gar. “He’s not giving us any intel, so we’re gonna put him out of his misery.” The look Kup gave him shook him to the core. “‘Less you can think of something to do with him.”

“Is it routine to have this conversation in front of our prisoners?” Outwardly, he managed to look aloof. Inwardly, his mind was racing, totalling up a variety of outcomes that might allow the prisoner his freedom, or at least his life. It was a ‘Con, but it was a 'Con he owed his life to, and at least some small part of the old him felt it wouldn’t be honourable to repay his good deed with death.

Besides, the look Kup was giving him was clearly telling him to think about it, and threatened Perceptor’s own death if he didn’t offer up a solution.

“Well, might just scare ‘im enough to speak up.” As if on cue, the prisoner growled, and promptly choked and whined when the collar flared to life, yet he still didn’t back down, or look away from Perceptor. The fire in his remaining optic was daring him, he just knew it, and all too quickly he realised the solution.

“I want him,” He carried on before anyone could interrupt, or before he could question his own insane idea, “I’ll keep him, and see if he can’t be made into something useful. I owe him my life, it’s my duty to ensure he keep his, though I understand that he cannot be simply set free. I’ll keep him.”

“We’re not in the business of handing out pets Percy,” Springer’s face was screwed up, but he didn’t look as disgusted as Perceptor felt inside. “But I like it. I think. Kup?”

Perceptor couldn’t get a handle on the look Kup was giving him, though it seemed mostly intrigued. “Well, it’ll liven the place up a bit. He’s confined to the brig and your quarters. Full stasis cuffs and collar at all times.”

“Muzzle too. If he kills you, then frankly I couldn’t care less, but if he harms one of the crew, then I’ll kill you myself.” Springer pushed a remote into Perceptor’s hands. “The manual’s on the console. Progress report in one month.” Springer shot an amused smirk to the 'Con. “And you, be a good boy and maybe you’ll survive, eh?”

“C’com lad, let’s go 'Con proof your room a bit so you don’t get killed in your sleep.” Kup was quick to steer him away, but all Perceptor could focus on was the weight of the remote in his hand, and the low growl following him down the hall.

* * *

The small crew crowded to watch, several even jeered, as Perceptor led his new ‘project’ back to his hab-suite. It was agonisingly slow progress– despite his arms behind his back, and his ankles cuffed and chained together, the 'Con struggled and pulled, no matter how fruitless or damaging it was to his already broken frame. He seemed to favour one leg, and Perceptor would check to see if it were broken later, but he was honestly more concerned with the state of the mech’s inner systems; Kup had finally been free with his information, and apparently food hadn’t been a part of their hospitality treatment. It turned his tanks, but it might work in Perceptor’s favour if he could work out a way to trade food for subservience, or at least cooperation.

Behind him, the ‘Con growled and tried to pull away again, but a sharp yank on the pole-leash had him stumbling along just to try and keep from falling. He was loud too; Perceptor had turned the shock collar off, but the barred muzzle strapped to the mech’s face didn’t muffle his angry, and increasingly agitated noises, especially when their audience made lewd or disgusting comments to them. The way the ‘Con’s denta gnashed sharply at a particular comment was enough for one of the damaged pegs to break off entirely, leaving him with yet another gap in his mouth, not that he seemed to be in the mind to care.

Perceptor ignored the jeers, and squashed down the intrusive urge to let the ‘Con have his fun attacking their loud-mouthed crew, until eventually the team wandered off with a handful of rude parting comments. His arm and fists were aching already with the force of trying to pull and control the ‘Con, but eventually they got to his suite and he managed to wrangle him inside and then, with the help of the pole-leash, force him into the open cage newly installed in the corner of his room. Truthfully, it wasn’t much bigger than the cell he’d been kept in, his suite wasn’t exactly huge after all, but Perceptor had made sure that he’d be able to lie out and stand up comfortably, or at least he could when Perceptor trusted him enough to let him move more freely. Until then…

“Kneel please.”

“Get. Fragged!” The 'Con’s voice was barely audible behind the static of his damaged throat, but Perceptor could well understand the sentiment.

“If you don’t kneel, I will force you to.” He pushed against the con’s neck slightly, just to show his point, but when all he received was more erratic struggling, he moved quickly. Pushing the ‘Con’s head down with the collar and pole, it was all too easy to overpower him, force him to his knees and then down with his face to the floor. A heavy foot on his back helped keep him down despite his struggles, and Perceptor was quick about fastening the collar to the adjudtable-chain attached to the far corner of the cage. It was short, just long enough to let the 'Con lay his head on the ground, but he wouldn’t be able to stand or get his face or hands close to the bars, especially not with them cuffed behind his back as they were.

With the ‘Con chained, he stepped away quickly, shut and locked the door, and unhooked the pole-leash deftly before the ‘Con even managed to roll up to alop-sided crouch.

“I will remove the muzzle and cuffs when you’ve proven to me that you can be trusted not to attack me.”

“Gonna rust to death before that happens ya prissy piece of-“

“Regardless. These are the terms. You will cooperate, and in return you will be allowed certain freedoms and benefits.” Perceptor looked closer at the mech’s awkwardly-held leg and tutted to himself. Hopefully it wouldn’t take much to fix, but it would definitely be a while before he felt safe enough to stay so close to the 'Con for any amount of time. No matter, there was plenty of the ‘Con left to fix in the meantime. “I hope that this will become a mutually beneficial venture, and I encourage your full cooperation. For now, I will leave you to rest and adjust.” He nodded, both to the ‘Con and himself, and made to leave. Before he could let himself out, a rasping voice croaked after him.

“Chatty fragger ain’t ya? What makes you think I’ll ever listen to you?” The single red optic watched him, and Perceptor wondered if it was all bravado, or if there was some genuine question there.

“Simply because, he only way you will live is to do as I say, and you look like a survivor to me.”

The 'Con was silent as he left his room.

* * *

“How’s he settling in?” Kup leant against the worktop as Perceptor carefully mixed a small batch of energon. He was patient while Perceptor focussed on mixing the last few additives in until he was happy with the consistency.

“As well as to be expected.”

“You got a plan for him?”

“Teach him to trust me, then teach him to fight besides me. With my new upgrades, it would be beneficial if he fights at close distance while I shoot from afar and keep an eye on the field, though I’ll see what he excels at.”

“He ‘excels’ at killing Autobots,” Kup wasn’t angry, but he looked tired, worn out and haggard in the way he did when he thought people weren’t looking at him. “You ask him his name yet? I’d love to be there when you do.” There was a slight sparkle to his optic, that suggested he knew something Perceptor didn’t, but he ignored it.

“A great deal of my plan hinges on him trusting me enough to tell me.” He remembered the snarl and hate in the ’Con’s single optic. “Or perhaps he’ll tell me when he’s had enough of being a nameless ‘pet’. Regardless, I’ll find out eventually.”

Kup opened hi mouth, no doubt with some wry reply, but he was instantly interrupted by the chime of a timer, and Perceptor hurried over to the block heater. With tongs, he carefully pulled each hot vial from the block, and popped them on a cooling rack nearby. The colours shifted and glimmered as they cooled, and in no time at all, they were a pearly iridescent mixture of colours, cool enough to handle, and he gently upended each one, to reveal to Kup his little experiment.

“Energon treats?” He snatched one up and popped it into his mouth before Perceptor could protest, and promptly almost coughed it back up again. “Bit sweet don’t you think?!”

“I’ve made a variety. I’ll see which the ‘Con prefers, and use them to build trust and enable me to get closer to him. I don’t want to treat his wounds until he can tolerate me being next to him, and besides,” He bit into a treat of his own, “the ones he doesn’t like, I get to eat myself.”

* * *

Perceptor entered his hab-suite quietly, the box of treats and energon in a box under his arm while he carried a stack of datapads in the other. There was a shuffle, and the ‘Con was crouching again, watching his every move as he placed his stuff on the desk, and put a couple of ‘pads away on a shelf, and quietly busied around, tidying small things away in his usual routine. He ignored the ‘Con for a short while, giving him time to adjust and observe what Perceptor was doing, but after he found himself fiddling with the same stylus pen for five minutes, he figured he’d waited long enough and turned to face his ‘project’.

“How are you feeling?” No answer, but the ‘Con pulled an ugly face and narrowed his optic. “I see. If it’s alright with you, I’d like you to fuel and I’ll check the damage to your optic.”

“Piss off.”

“Indeed. When was the last time you refuelled? Before you met us?” The 'Con kept quiet, and Percy hummed as he opened his box of food. He didn’t have to see to hear the way the ‘Con’s optics, body and full attention snapped to the box when the lid clicked open, and the smell of the warmed energon and treats permeated the room. He was slow as he decided on a cube and picked out a simple straw, and made sure to look impartial as he approached the cage with it held carefully in his hand. Inside, the ‘Con stiffened and bared his broken teeth, but his gaze was fixed on the cube in Perceptor’s hand. “Please answer me. When was the last time you refuelled?”

“What’s it to you?” The ‘Con was drooling, though seemed determined not to lick his lips, but Perceptor could see a small trickle of oral fluids drip down his chin, leaving a starkly clean line on his otherwise dirty face.

“In the future, I will expect you to trust my judgement, and obey without questioning me. However, I understand that this period is one of hard adjustments; I’d like to know how long your tanks have been empty and ideally what percentage of your reserves you’re into, so that I can better judge how and what to feed you.” He crouched down to the ‘Con’s level, and he could see the tension as his captive tried not to shuffle closer, not that he could with the short chain. “I have no intention of using this information to abuse you, nor do I wish to hinder your recovery. Once you’ve told me, I will let you eat.” He held up the cube and tilted it so that the straw swivelled in place and the energon almost sloshed over the side.

Still, no matter how he was drooling and so clearly desperate for it, the 'Con restrained himself.

“Yeah, like hell I’m tellin’ ya that. _Piss. Off_.”

Perceptor nodded, carefully placed the cube on the floor near the cage, and stood. It was cruel, but he needed fast results to at least prove to Springer that this was a worthwhile project, and the curl of disgust at forcing his prisoner’s hand like this was easily drowned out by his desire to ensure he survived, whatever the cost.

“I’m leaving this here. When you’re ready to tell me, please speak up and let me know, and I will help you to eat it.” He wiped his hands, ignored the ‘Con’s swearing, and retreated to his desk to work on another project, his back to the cage. Behind him, the swearing continued, accompanied by the din of the mech kicking the wall and pulling against his chains, though it barely lasted an hour before the mech wore himself out and resorted to a constant, low growling.

By the time Perceptor was ready to recharge, the growling had died off and Perceptor checked on the mech before he retreated to his berth. The ‘Con had managed to curl himself up, back to the corner with his knees pulled to his chest to offer protection his arms couldn’t while still tied behind his back. He didn’t say a word, just glaredfrom behind his knees as Perceptor tidied up his desk and moved around the room, putting things away for the night. The cube was left on the floor, and Perceptor sat on the end of his berth and regarded his guest.

“The lights will turn off in five minutes, unless you prefer something illuminated to recharge?” If he did, he’d just be one extra on the long list of mechs, ruined by war, who couldn’t feel safe in the dark.

No answer, so Perceptor shrugged and lay down, though stayed awake until a little while after the lights clicked off to ensure his ‘guest’ would be fine, and in the end he succumbed to recharge with no incidents from the ‘Con.

* * *

It took a day for Perceptor to realise the ‘Con wasn’t recharging, and then three days of gnawing worry for the 'Con to finally break and kick the wall to get his attention.

“Hey!” His voice was rasping, and his face looked haggard, lack of sleep and fuel clear in every line of his frame. “…S’in my reserves before I even found you. Fumes now.”

Perceptor didn’t show the alarm on his face, but he nodded and was quick to grab a new cube and crouch next to the cage. The old cube was cold now of course, and had started to separate and congeal on the top, but the second he tried to close the lid and bin it, the 'Con growled at him.

“D-don’t waste it!”

Curious, but not entirely unexpected. He kept the lid on, and set the cube behind him, out of sight.

“I will recycle and remix it. It won’t go to waste, nor will you receive any less.” He cracked the lid of the new cube, and popped in a fresh straw. “Thank you for telling me, please kneel.”

To his relief the 'Con complied, though not without clear reluctance and pain as he forced his broken leg to comply.

“I’m going to engage the magnets in the cuffs, and shorten the collar so that you cannot try to attack me.”

“Whatever, just get on with it.”

The cuffs engaged, attaching to the mech’s back plating magnetically.He jolted a little too, when the he leash, at Perceptor’s command, wound into the wall until the mech was held in place, but he managed not to complain, other than glare. Satisfied, Perceptor unlocked the cage, and confidently walked in, though not before setting up an alert for the crew to automatically send off if he got into trouble.

He crouched in front of his ‘pet’, close but not quite touching. He wanted the 'Con to get used to his touch and presence, and flooding him with it would be the quickest way to acclimatise him, and to eventually have him dependant solely on Perceptor for his comfort and any physical contact. It was morally disgusting, he knew, but there wasn’t exactly a choice, and it was hardly the worst thing he’d done in this war.

“Drink slowly, and let your systems adjust.” He lifted the cube and held the straw in place for it to easily slip between the bars of the muzzle, and into the Con’s mouth. He guzzled it down quickly, but Perceptor didn’t want to cause any alarm by pulling the cube away, so he waited instead until the 'Con started to cough before hushing him, pulling the cube back but not out of reach. “Ssh, slower this time.”

His optic narrowed, but he didn’t say anything and just grabbed the straw and sucked as fast as he could. Perceptor could see his disappointment when the straw began to bring up nothing but air and, without thinking, he brought up a hand to brush the mech’s pointed finial. The mech froze, straw caught between his teeth and his optic looked wild as Perceptor forged onwards and stroked up the finial gently. It wouldn’t do to let the mech know he’d made a mistake.

“Good, do you want another?”

The touch was making him unsure, Perceptor could clearly see him trying to judge Perceptor’s intentions, but in the end hunger won and he stiffly nodded.

It was a quick trip to pick up a couple more cubes and stash a handful of treats into his subspace. This time, although still eager, his project sucked a little slower, and for once avoided looking at Perceptor’s face. The cube was finished, and the mech hiccuped and flushed with shame, but Percy was quick to stroke his helm again, ignoring how clearly embarrassed the mech was.

“Good, you’re doing well. One more I think, yes?”

Another stiff nod, another few moments spent holding the cube up while the mech drank it down, but this time Perceptor kept his hand in place and pet gently while the mech drank, hoping to at least foster some small amount of trust. The plating under his hand trembled, but Percy forced himself to keep touching him, determined to keep up the training. This time when the cube was pulled away, he kept one hand in place on the mech’s head while he rooted around in his subspace with the other.

“How do you feel? Good?” The 'Con bared his teeth, but didn’t look up or say anything. “You did well, I’m very happy, even though I’m sure you don’t want me to be. I want to reward your good behaviour.” The trembling under his hand grew stronger, and the mech hunched in on himself as good as he could, but still managed to stay quiet. Slowly, broadcasting his movements, Percy brought a treat stick up between them, and managed not to smile at the clear shock on the mech’s face at the sight of it. “I don’t know which flavour you prefer, so we’re going to try a few okay? If you’re well behaved, I’d like to treat you to things like this, so please keep that in mind. Now, I know you won’t spit it out if you don’t like it, but if you find a flavour you don’t want again, please tell me. And of course, please tell me if there’s one you like a lot.”

“…Pits you talk too much…”

The oft-heard jibe was brushed off, and Percy held the treat up to the bars of the mech’s muzzle. The treat was long and slender, so he was easily able to push it through the bars without risking his fingers getting bit, though the 'Con was clearly too busy gobbling the treat down to even attempt an attack.

“This is a sweet one, good?” The 'Con flicked his optic up, and nodded after squinting hard for a moment or two. “Glad to hear it. Please try this next, it’s still sweet, though the rust inside should give it a little bite.” That too was gobbled down, and the next one, and the next. Under his hand, the con’s plating was still tense, but at least he wasn’t shaking so much anymore. Carefully, he dropped his hand to cup the mech’s rounded cheek armour, but ignored when the mech froze under his hand, merely pushing another sweet treat to his mouth.

He was careful with his thumb as he tested the cheek around the broken optic. It was swollen, though would heal easily enough, which couldn’t be said for the optic itself. Someone had jammed something sharp in there, and behind the broken lens the inner circuitry was mangled, and his own new optic throbbed in sympathy.

“I’d like to fix this tomorrow.” He spoke quietly, and the 'Con didn’t reply. “This is the second to last treat.” It was swallowed quickly. “And this is the last one, a sweet one like the first.” Gone in seconds, and as he pulled away, the 'Con licked his lips and hiccuped again and tried to not look embarrassed. It would take a day or two for the fuel to take effect, but already the 'Con looked healthier– a few more days of the special medical grade and Percy would be able to shift him back to normal fuel. With one last brush of his thumb, he stood, collected the empty cubes, and stepped outside of the cage. Once the door was locked, he sent the command to loosen the leash and cuffs, and let the 'Con shuffle a little again– immediately he was hunched back into the corner, knees up and glaring as Percy cleaned up.

It felt like progress though, and consistency was key, so Perceptor quickly worked it into his daily schedule. Set meal times would be ideal, and now he knew exactly what treats to use as rewards for good behaviour. And perhaps, if he stuffed his project with enough food, he’d be too sated and full to protest to any of his other planned training methods.

 


End file.
